Neon burned against the rain-dark glass.
KTX 427 — Seoul → Busan
Beneath the glow, Seojin stood still, hood drawn low, a heavy bag slung across one shoulder. They double-checked the ticket between their fingers, the paper soft from folding, before stepping inside.
The compartment stank of iron and smoke.
Men sprawled across the seats like they owned the train. Jackets cut from scarred leather hung open to reveal tattooed menageries, dragons coiling around ribs, masks inked across collarbones, faded prison numbers ghosted beneath fresh colors.
Chains clinked as one shifted. Another cracked his knuckles, sharp as a coin drop. The air carried a metallic tang, blood or rust, it was hard to tell.
Some of them glanced up as Seojin passed. Others didn't bother.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the speaker hummed overhead,
"welcome aboard the KTX."
At the far end of the car sat a man who didn't move. His head rested against a metal bat, eyes half-lidded, gaze fixed to the side calmly.
Seojin's eyes met his for a second before slipping past into the next compartment.
"This train is bound for Seoul," the voice continued.
"The next stop is Busan Station."
That was when every man in the compartment began to rise.
Blades, pipes, and chains caught the cabin lights.
"Please make sure your belongings are with you at all times," the announcement droned,
"and do not leave them unattended."
Their boots thudded against the floor as they approached the next door, the one that led to Seojin.
"We wish you a pleasant journey."
The metal-bat man stood.
"Thank you." the announcement finished.
He wrapped a bandage around his palm and the bat's handle, winding it tight until the cloth stretched white.
"I'm afraid your stop is here," he said, resting the bat across his shoulder.
The metal-bat shone.
"Whatever's waiting in Busan… isn't yours to meet."
…
Inside the next compartment, it was calm.
Passengers dozed with earbuds in; others scrolled their phones, faces lit by cold blue light.
Seojin found a seat by the window. They pulled out their phone.
The wallpaper was old: a photograph from the city plaza decades ago.
A family frozen in the bright afternoon sun.
Their father, Yeon Oryong, stood in his white mask, one arm wrapped around their mother. In her other hand, she held the small hand of a five-year-old boy who turned shyly from the camera.
In Oryong's arms was a toddler, Seojin, grinning. The crowd behind them cheering, clapping, believing in something pure.
Seojin was numb from the photo, as if being lied to has been a normal occurrence of his life.
…
Bloodied faces.
Men with tape over their mouths and wrists, kneeling. shirtless, wounded, eyes wide, bruised and terrified.
Dozens of photos, one after another, trophies of punishment, sent years ago to the same man who once held them in that family picture.
Their father's world. Their inheritance.
The air around Seojin seemed to tighten.
A voice interrupted.
"Sir…"
Seojin looked up.
The train attendant was shocked. "O–oh, I mean… miss?"
Seojin did nothing but stare at the train attendant.
"Your ticket, please."
Seojin handed it over casually. The attendant scanned the QR code, handed it back, but didn't leave.
"Your bag," he said hesitantly. "I've been ordered to check it."
Seojin's voice was quiet, even.
"…Why do you need to see what's in it?"
"I–I don't know," he stammered. "Higher-up's orders."
Before Seojin could respond, thuds began to echo from the next car. Again and again.
Every head in the compartment turned, the floor started to vibrate.
…
The door burst open.
The metal-bat man stumbled through, blood streaking down his forehead. He kicked one of the gangsters ahead of him, the body crashed into the aisle, then vaulted in after it.
"MOVE!" he shouted.
Passengers surged, bags and phones flying, as metal struck metal and glass shattered in overlapping chaos.
The train attendant didn't think, he lunged forward and grabbed Seojin's arm.
"Run!" he shouted, dragging them toward the crowd.
Seojin didn't react to the train attendant's sudden bravery, they just let him let them, their bag in their hand. The hand on their sleeve jolted them back to motion, their hood slipped, eyes flashing in the chaos, and then they were being pulled along, stumbling into the press of bodies.
The attendant shoved Seojin through the aisle, then turned back, breath ragged.
He scanned the compartment, making sure everyone had cleared.
A woman had fallen between the seats, lost in the crush. She reached out, hand trembling, her scream drowned by the roar of boots and panic.
The attendant hesitated only a second before sprinting back for her.
He vaulted over an overturned suitcase, sliding between seats to reach her.
"Come on!" he shouted, grabbing the woman's arm and hauling her upright. She stumbled, nearly falling again, but he pulled her close, shielding her as the gangsters surged closer.
The metal-bat man swung, his strike connecting with a crack that split the noise apart. One gangster's tooth flew, glittering briefly in the fluorescent light before disappearing into the chaos.
He spun, the bat's arc a blur of motion, pushing back the tide.
"GO!" he roared, planting his feet and holding the line.
The attendant wrapped an arm around the woman, forcing a path through the crowd. The compartment shook as the fight erupted behind them, metal on flesh, grunts, shouts. He didn't look back.
CRACK!
A blow caught him between the shoulders, he stumbled, teeth gritting, but kept his grip on her. The door to the next compartment loomed ahead.
Behind him, the metal-bat man was pressed against the wall, gangsters piling on, pinning him down.
The attendant shoved the woman forward.
"Run! Go!"
She slipped through the door just as another gangster yanked the attendant back by the collar, dragging him off his feet.
"WHERE IS BOSS YEON?!" the gangster roared, fist slamming into the attendant's ribs.
Through the narrow window of the next compartment, Seojin stood halfway across the aisle, one earbud dangling, eyes fixed through the compartment's door.
The attendant gasped through bloodied lips, shaking his head.
"I–I don't know who that is!"
Another punch.
Seojin looked down at the mask in their bag, the dark mask of the late Oryong. His reflection stared back from its surface, the train lights flashing across it like passing memories.
One last time.
The gangster raised his knife.
SLAM!
The gangster was flung backward, crashing into a row of seats.
From the attendant's blurred vision, he saw the figure in the hood standing above him, face hidden behind that familiar, cold mask.
Seojin tilted his head, voice low but clear over the ringing chaos:
"Get out."
The attendant stumbled up and ran, clutching his ribs, disappearing into the next compartment as the door slammed behind him.
The compartment fell eerily silent.
The fight stopped mid-motion, fists froze, blades half-raised. The gangsters turned, their eyes meeting the reflection of the mask, catching the same kind of light as Oryong's.
The metal-bat man, breathing hard, lowered his bat slightly. His head turned toward Seojin.
Even the hum of the train seemed to fade, replaced by the dull vibration of the tracks beneath their feet.
One of the gangsters whispered, disbelief cutting through the quiet.
"...Boss?"
The word rippled through them like a current.
"Boss Yeon?" another muttered, the tension folding into confusion.
Seojin stood still, shoulders level, hood shadowing half the mask.
The air pressed tight, every breath from the others sounded too loud.
Then one of the gangsters stepped forward, voice trembling but defiant.
"We're here on orders... to make sure you don't run from your role."
Seojin's tone was calm, almost casual, but the weight in it stilled the air.
"Did Oryong give you this order?"
A few exchanged glances, none wanted to answer until the same one spoke again.
"He did. We were told to either bring you back... or eliminate you if you resist. Nobody says no to Oryong… even you."
The silence that followed was knife-sharp.
Then Seojin tilted his head slightly.
"Then…"
A faint metallic hum filled the compartment as the KTX began to accelerate, the walls vibrating, the floor rumbling beneath their boots.
"…if I'm your boss," The words felt heavy in his mouth, but he said them anyway.
"Kneel."
The gangsters staggered slightly as the sudden surge of speed pressed against them, the force of the acceleration pushing them back, coats flaring, chains rattling.
The fluorescent lights flickered in rhythm with the pulse of the train.
None of them moved at first. Then, slowly, one man's knees buckled. Another followed. The weight of the speed pressed them lower, as if gravity itself had chosen Seojin's side.
Even the metal-bat man, whose arms were steel and fury, froze at the sight of the mask and the figure beneath it.